


QUINQUE PRAECLARI: Five Illustrious Men

by hoc_voluerunt



Series: SPQR [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Animal Sacrifice, Case Fic, Gen, Historical References, Misogyny, Pre-Slash, Riots, Story: The Adventure of the Illustrious Client, Story: The Adventure of the Six Napoleons, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt/pseuds/hoc_voluerunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the case of Minicianus, Celatus has been striving towards his ever-present, ever-distant foe: Mercurialis. It would seem ridiculous that Laevinus’ curious coincidence of two shattered statues would lead them to anything worth mention; yet Celatus’ whims are almost never wrong. What ensues might lead them to tradesmen, pearls, and a mastermind — or to their violent deaths. With an emperor aging, greedy and cruel, however, perhaps it is not broken statues, but the issue of a single adoption, which needs to be feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	QUINQUE PRAECLARI: Five Illustrious Men

**Author's Note:**

> Latin translations in mouseover text, or in [this post](http://hoc-voluerunt.livejournal.com/39859.html).

            In the dead of the night, in early winter, two men huddled beneath the arches of an aqueduct, while one watched the street and another watched his breath plume before him.

            “It’s _December,”_ Vannus grumbled, as he clutched tighter at the wool in which he was wrapped. “Surely this can wait until spring.”

            Celatus scowled at the buildings opposite. “Finding the woman who killed Minicianus could lead us to Mercurialis,” he snapped under his breath. “If you’re so bothered about it, why don’t you go help Seia with her festival preparations, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind another hand.”

            Vannus rolled his eyes in the dark. “It’s been over a _month,”_ he sighed, “why this sudden interest in our helpful murderer?”

            “I have been _busy,”_ Celatus forced through gritted teeth.

            “With _what?”_

            “Well, _you_ were being reticent,” Celatus muttered, “so apparently I had to take you out on that case with the Egyptian boat-maker –”

            “I never asked for that,” Vannus hissed. “Besides, I told you about the biggest dishonour of my life, of course I was _reticent –”_

            “– _and,_ in the meantime, I’ve been trying to find Mercurialis through other means –”

            Vannus’ gaze whipped around. “You’ve been _what?!”_

            With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Celatus dismissed him.

            “Celatus, she is _dangerous!”_

            “She’s a _woman.”_

            Vannus scoffed, and drew back a little. “I’m sorry,” he growled, “but are we forgetting that little _game_ she forced me into, because unless you want me to give you the same injuries, I wouldn’t be so inclined to _sneer –”_

            Suddenly, Celatus clapped a hand over Vannus’ mouth and shushed him, as his ears almost visibly pricked up. A door could be heard opening, somewhere behind them, and after a pause, footsteps approached. Celatus released Vannus, and they both slumped over in an impression of beggarly sleep, and tried to peer over their coverings without being too conspicuous. A long and strained moment passed – before a man strode by the aqueduct, tall and gangly, swarthy and Greek, and very clearly not their target. Vannus’ shoulders fell, and Celatus let out a measured and disappointed breath.

            “Can we go _home_ now?”

            Celatus frowned, and shut his eyes, and curled his lip; and relented. As they walked however, he grumbled, almost to himself:

            “I _will_ find her. I _will find her.”_

 

            Saturnalia came and went, and the new year dashed closer. With every failure, Celatus took to alternately pacing their rooms at CCXXIB, and disappearing for hours on end, where he no doubt ran back and forth across the city in his attempts to find their killer, or fresh leads, or Mercurialis herself. Though Vannus did not doubt that Celatus’ efforts were magnificent, he was certain that there was much the man kept from him; and though he tried not to be irked by Celatus’ dishonesty, there was a part of him that felt childishly jealous. Much more of him, however, simply ached – for a Celatus out of his sight was a Celatus no doubt being reckless. He mourned and feared in the man’s absence; yet, despite this, for the kalends of January, Vannus bought a whole dish of honey-drenched figs which he left on the table for his friend, before he let himself be distracted by a small sacrifice for Aesculapius with Seia, Menna, Statius and their friends.

            When he returned home that night, however, the figs were untouched.

            Vannus’ perpetually half-curled fingers clenched into fists, and he tried without success to ignore the omen.

 

            As the days went on, Vannus took to snapping and snarling without thought – first when Celatus was gone for too long, then even more when he finally returned; and it was a relief, therefore, when Laevinus came to visit. His familiar, patient step was a welcome change, and he arrived, thankfully, on an evening in which Celatus had come home and capitulated to Vannus’ orders that he eat.

            “Laevinus, thank Mithras,” Vannus sighed, as he pecked the man’s cheek with a grasp of his shoulder, then briefly embraced his companion. “Evening, Dido. Please tell me you two have something to distract _that one_ with.” He threw a sharp nod in Celatus’ direction, and the patrician scowled over his lungs and beans.

            Vannus and Dido sat back on the chairs by the hearth while Laevinus placed himself with a smirk across the table from Celatus.

            “Evening,” he said, grinning, even though Celatus merely glared. “I have something for you.” From the pouch on his belt, he drew a shard of dull white marble – about the length of a finger, but thicker, and tapered at one end – and tossed it onto the table in front of his friend. “Tell me what that’s from,” he said, with a nod at the little mystery, “and I’ll tell you what we’ve found the last few nights.”

            Celatus swallowed his food like an irritated toddler.

            “You can take your petty problems elsewhere,” he spat. “I’m _busy.”_

            Vannus snorted. “Oh, certainly,” he drawled. “And I’m a consul, right?”

            Celatus turned his fiery glare on the Briton, who not only didn’t baulk, but merely tilted his head in stony-faced defiance. Dropping his knife with a clatter, Celatus picked up the shard. He turned it over in his hands, held it up to the light, smoothed his fingertips over the surface and the pointed end, and tapped it with his fingernail.

            “It’s a piece of marble statue,” he narrated, as if the problem was of no interest. “Not chalk or plaster, but not the best stone either. From a small statue of an orator, no taller than a few feet at most, probably for display on a short plinth. It’s cheap: this piece contains a section of the toga, but the folds aren’t very well carved, and the paint is already flaking, probably due to both the imperfections in the stone as well as the crafter’s lack of skill. I’d wager this was made within the last year, in a shop to the south of the city, near the Aventine, probably in a set of half a dozen or a dozen, these cheaper craftsmen do tend to work on these things in groups.”

            He held the shard out to the stunned-looking Laevinus across the table, and raised one eyebrow.

            “Well?” he prompted. “What have you found the last few nights?”

            Laevinus chuckled, shaking his head, and took back the piece of marble. “I should have known not to test you,” he laughed. “Right on all counts, and a few more I can’t verify. Three nights ago, one of my men was on his watch when he heard a shattering sound. He ran towards it and found no person, but he did find –” he held up the stone – “this. All in pieces, right on the road.” Laevinus shrugged. “He brought it back to headquarters, but we all put it down to an accident. Probably unimportant.”

            “Last night, however,” Celatus continued for him; Dido and Vannus rolled eyes at each other.

            “Last night,” Laevinus conceded, “it happened again. Different man this time, different watch – but he heard something shatter, and footsteps running away, when he came to the place: another statue, just like this, broken apart, on the floor of an empty tradesman’s shop, with a torch dropped beside it.” He frowned a little, but laughed it off. “Odd, don’t you think?”

            “Yes,” Celatus murmured, “odd…”

            Vannus stared at him.

            “Don’t,” he said, disbelieving. “Don’t you dare tell me _this_ has grabbed your attention.”

            “But it’s _odd,”_ Celatus repeated, and looked up at him almost askance. “Don’t you think?”

            “Odd, yes, certainly,” Vannus sneered, “but nothing more.”

            There was nothing but an insult in Celatus’ raised brow.

            “Have I taught you nothing, Piso?” he said. “At the very least, it’s worth looking into.”

            Dido snorted, and pushed out from her seat. “Right, well, let us know if you feel like _looking into_ it,” she jeered. “We have work to do.”

            Laevinus sighed, and rose. “She’s right,” he said. “We should get back to headquarters.”

            “You said the first statue was brought in pieces back to you,” Celatus interrupted. “What about the second?”

            “I think our man left it there,” Laevinus shrugged. He looked to Dido.

            “He thought an animal had knocked it off.”

            “Right.”

            “Could you show us the two sites?” asked Celatus. Both Laevinus and Dido looked utterly exasperated.

            “Well, you are intrigued, aren’t you,” said Laevinus, with a glance at Vannus, who scoffed at the floor. “I’m sure we can get the men who found them to take you back.”

            “Excellent.” Celatus wolfed down the last few bites of his meal and swept to his feet; but Laevinus raised a hand, and cut him off.

            “ _Only,”_ he added, “not now. Marcius doesn’t come in again until tomorrow, and Titius only works the midnight watches, so he won’t be around until very late.”

            “Well then, we shall endeavour to be with you _very late,_ then,” Celatus said, half-sneering and half-polite. Vannus raised his brow.

            “ _We?”_ he repeated. “I’m spending all day at Seia’s tomorrow, I have to be up at dawn. What makes you think I want to come with you?”

            “Because you’ve been irritable ever since I began going after Mercurialis again,” Celatus orated, wide-mouthed, as his eyes arched around and down to Vannus as if his regard were a miraculous gift. There, he held his gaze. “You can’t talk to me without snapping,” he said, unmoving, “look at me without disgust, or go anywhere without asking where I’ve been – don’t try to deny it, I asked Hirtia. The more I leave you out, the more _bored_ you get, and no matter how trivial this case may seem, you’ll still trail after me like a dog just to make sure I don’t get knocked over by a stray cart if you can.”

            Vannus glared long and hard, even while Laevinus had frozen beside them. Then, he cocked his chin towards his lap, and pressed his palms to his thighs. He pushed to his feet, and when he met Celatus’ eye again, his thin mouth had pulled up on one side into a furious smile.

            “Piso,” Dido warned from beside him – “you’ll make things more bearable for all of us if you come.”

            After a moment of stillness, Vannus gave a rueful laugh, and dropped his gaze, which, when he lifted it again, went straight to Dido and Laevinus.

            “I’ll see you tonight, then,” he said.

            Celatus’ smirk was enough to make Vannus’ bile rise. He was still staring at Vannus.

            “As late as we can come,” he added; then swept out towards the stairs as if to lead the way out for their guests.

 

            Well after the first watch of the night, Vannus and Celatus strode out onto the street and towards the vigiles’ quarters. Both of them bore torches, and though Celatus walked ahead with a proud chin and defiant gaze, behind him, Vannus was tense with caution, and carried his dagger in his hand. They only suffered one altercation during the walk – a brawl outside an inn which threatened first to distract them from thieves, and then to engulf them – but they managed to move on with a swiftness that disallowed any attempt on their persons.

            “Thank you, by the way,” Vannus said, as he brushed the dirt from his cloak. “For earlier.”

            Celatus’ brow rose, though he didn’t look back when he replied. “What did I do? Apart from the usual, of course.”

            Vannus could have spat. “Humiliated me in front of friends, is what you did,” he growled. “Laevinus is a good man, but he’s still an equestrian, and I’m a plebeian. I can’t expect him to be kind when you keep –”

            Celatus scoffed. “Laevinus couldn’t think more of you if he tried,” he drawled. “You were a _soldier,_ you’ve got the wounds to prove your honour.”

            Somehow, it still sounded like an insult. Vannus’ lips pursed.

            “Yes, well,” he said stiffly – “it’s not as if I’m going to be complacent, not when you wouldn’t eat a gift of figs on the _kalends of January –_ I mean, _Mithras,_ Celatus, are you trying to turn every god against us?”

            What he could see of Celatus’ face had gone distinctly sour in the light of his torch.

            “As if I should eat a deliberately underpriced gift from my brother just to please _Janus,”_ he sneered. “I’d rather risk the ill omen, if you ask me. Besides, I know you bought those cakes for the lararium, surely that’s enough to cover us both.”

            Vannus felt, at the same time, a curious glow of triumph as well as an onslaught of disappointment, as in the stamping-out of a cheerful fire. He cleared his throat.

            “Those figs cost me a fortnight’s pay,” he said, “I’d hardly call them _underpriced.”_

            Celatus took two steps more before he stopped in his tracks. Vannus, who had slowed in anticipation, caught up with him, and stood at his side with his body towards him, looking up with a terrible calm.

            “Have you something to say to me, Celatus?”

            Celatus’ expression was horrified.

            “Vannus,” he stuttered – “Vannus, I am _so sorry.”_ He looked over, and turned towards him. “I thought they were from Sollemnis, he does gestures like that to annoy me, and I hadn’t seen you for days –”

            Vannus snorted, and said, “And whose fault is that?”, but Celatus talked over him.

            “– if I had known – by Minerva, Vannus, if I had known –”

            “All right, all right,” Vannus grumbled with a roll of his eyes, and turned to continue down the street. “Just so long as we’re clear that you shouldn’t be cruel to me in company.”

            “I’ll make it up to you,” Celatus babbled as he ran to catch up. “I’ll buy you some dates on the kalends of February, we can –”

            “Celatus, it’s not the same,” Vannus sighed.

            “But I’ve jeopardised the entire _year!_ Oh, Minerva above…”

            “Yes, you have done that,” Vannus remarked; but there was a smile on his face that flickered with the torchlight. “We can go to the temple tomorrow morning,” he said, without a glance up at Celatus. “At dawn. We’ll see if we can’t help you make amends.”

            “Oh, and the priests have already made the yearly sacrifice… Vannus I promise, I _promise –”_

            “Odd, though,” Vannus shrugged, “to see you so worked up over a little god’s ire.”

            Celatus’ face twitched, and his mouth pursed into a moue of embarrassment: without the hardness of his usual passion – whether cruel or kind – he looked unusually young.

            “It’s not the _god_ I’m worried about,” he eventually tried to drawl. “It’s the _luck._ I’m not entirely tactless, you know.”

            Vannus made a face, shrugging with his mouth and brow.

            “You could have fooled me.”

 

            Laevinus met them outside the vigiles’ quarters, where Mercurialis’ months-old message across the street had long since been obliterated by graffiti and weather. He ushered them out from the dangerous dark and into the warm light within the building, where rooms above and at street level shed their lamplight upon the sparse, milling soldiers in the courtyard. Back in his study, he brought out a basket of marble shards not unlike the one he’d presented to Celatus earlier, then called out for one of his men. As he did, Celatus sat across the table from Laevinus and began to sort through the shattered pieces in the basket, peering at every one.

            “Titius,” Laevinus introduced, once the man – dark-skinned and full of lithe strength – came; “this is Cornelius Celatus, and his colleague Caelius Piso. They’re…” He sighed with a smile. “They’re here about that statue you found.

            Titius’ face twisted in confusion. “The _statue?”_ he repeated. “Surely it’s not important – it was hardly worth much.”

            “Nevertheless,” Celatus interrupted, though his lips were stiller than usual in his perusal of the marble shards. “Can you tell us the details of how you found it?”

            Titius looked appalled at the waste of time, but his entreating glance at his legate was met only with a shrug and a sigh as Laevinus sat. The subordinate soldier turned frowning eyes on Celatus.

            “It was a few nights ago, now,” he said. “I was on my watch, near the gate, when I heard something shatter.”

            “At what hour was this?” Celatus interrupted. “Tell me _exactly.”_

            Titius made a wild, shrugging gesture. “Third watch of the night?” he offered. “I couldn’t tell you the precise hour if I tried, but it was perhaps halfway through.”

            Celatus nodded. “Go on,” he said, and looked back to his shards. “You heard the shatter.”

            “Yes, well,” Titius continued – “I ran towards it, thinking there might have been a break-in or a fight somewhere; all I found, however, was – well, that mess.” He nodded his chin at the basket on the table. “Couldn’t see a soul about, no signs of intruders anywhere around, no one shouting; so I gathered it all up in case someone came looking for it, and went on my way. When I brought it all back here after my watch, Valerius said I shouldn’t worry about it.” He looked to his superior for confirmation, and Laevinus nodded.

            “Could you show us where you found the remains?” Vannus asked.

            “Most probably,” Titius shrugged. “I know the site well – it’s on a corner, right under one of the lamps, you can’t miss it.”

            A little hiss sounded at Vannus’ side as Celatus sucked in a quiet, sharp inhale. After a moment of silence, he stood, and as he did, he tucked the piece of marble in his fingers into a fold of his toga.

            “Take us to it,” he ordered. “Take us to the place.”

 

            They spent a few scant moments at the site of the victimless vandalism. As the watchman had said, it was right where an oil lamp hung over the street, and there was still some marble dust between the paving stones. Celatus crouched down to peer at the ground, stood on tip-toes, spun on the spot; then ordered their guide Titius to take them back. He’d seen all he needed.

            “Look at this,” he muttered to Vannus as they walked, and held out the shard of marble he’d taken. “Read what it says.”

            Vannus’ mouth tightened. Blinking, Celatus drew back his hand.

            “It’s from the base of the statue,” he explained. “There are few letters carved on it, enough for me to know the name of the maker.”

            Vannus stared at him. _“And?”_ he prompted.

            “Gellius,” Celatus murmured. “Gellius and a small company of cheap craftsmen work on the Aventine, making objects just like this.”

            “You’ll be seeing him tomorrow, then,” said Vannus. Celatus glanced up at the still-dark horizon.

            “Today, I should say,” he corrected. “But we’ve something to attend to, first…”

            Vannus smirked in the dark.

 

            They bought honey figs and a wiry ram from early-rising merchants. Within the temple, they handed the sacrifice to one of the temple workers and fed to each other the figs, piece by sticky piece – popped from pinched fingers, long and thin, or stocky and tanned. Celatus murmured an apology at the foot of the altar before, as dawn bloomed, the ram was returned to them. Vannus crouched, and held it by the horns as Celatus pulled down its bound forelegs with one hand and, in the other, wielded Vannus’ dagger. The new morning sunlight pushed back at the torchlight within the temple, and Vannus met Celatus’ gaze over the horns, close and just above him, before the cut was made.

            The new blood soaked their shoes and sprayed their arms as Celatus invoked Janus, Jupiter and Vesta, and prayed for both of their good healths. They sent the ram’s flesh home to Hirtia in Celatus’ arms, and Vannus walked to the Caelian to work.

 

            Vannus’ day was uneventful – the usual coughs and fevers and broken bones – with the exception of two visits from Celatus, both of which were wild and whirling, and provided not a single explanation beyond the words “Gellius has been very useful indeed…” When he set off, however, for the via Pistoris that evening, he found himself very suddenly joined by a young woman, no older than thirty, with a long, thin and knotted scar angled from her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, below her left eye, and down over her cheek all the way to the corner of her jaw. She was fierce of eye, however, and as pale as a German, and she spoke to him as if she already knew him.

            “Celatus has word for you,” she said, as she fell into step with Vannus too quickly for him to even break his stride. “You’re to meet him at Herennius’ shop, south of the forum.”

            “And you are?” Vannus asked, brow raised. She grinned, and her scar lifted the left corner of her lip to curl up over her teeth.

            “A friend,” she said. “He thought that you’d distrust the message, so he also said to remind you that figs alone do not a partnership make. Whatever that means.”

            Vannus snorted. “I’ll see him there, then,” he said – and the woman slipped away into the broadening shadows. He dearly wished that he had a knife on him; but the message had been just personal enough to make sense only to them, so he made his way to the forum with no more than a little suspicion in his heart. A few smiles and questions directed him to the right street, where he found a painting of marble statuary above a door, and a dark-browed Celatus leaning on the wall.

            “Vannus,” he said, looking up. “Catia got the message to you – good.”

            “Catia, eh?” Vannus repeated as he slowed his pace in his approach. He came to a halt beside his friend. “And who was she?”

            “A very helpful woman,” Celatus smirked. “She knows people who would never talk to me – criminals who’d rather keep away from a friend of the vigiles. She’s helping me find someone.”

            He shifted his weight from the wall and over his feet, and set off in the direction of the Aventine, as Vannus fell into step beside him without a thought.

            “I’m feeling rather uninformed right now,” he said, a half-growl, half-smile.

            “If you’d arrived earlier, you might have been able to help with Herennius,” said Celatus, and continued too fast for Vannus to do more than open his mouth to protest. “However, since you are something of our… _breadwinner…”_ He smirked, and Vannus did not adjust his impatient frown.

            Celatus rolled his eyes, and began.

            “I went to see Gellius, the maker of the broken statues,” he recited. “There were five in all, sold to this merchant Herennius. I was just there getting as much information as I could about the last three of these statues.”

            The downturn to Vannus’ mouth had softened, and now the quirk between his brows spoke of a different frown.

            “Why?” he asked. “I understand perhaps they’re in danger, from whatever madman has been breaking statues, but really, what’s the terrible harm?” He caught Celatus’ eye as they walked. “What’s gotten you so _interested?”_

            Celatus’ smile was crooked with intrigue.

            “The first two statues,” he explained, in a voice thin with suppressed excitement, “were smashed beneath torches, out in the street in one case, and in an empty shop in the other. What does that tell us?”

            Vannus blew a breath out from his mouth and closed his eyes for one, exasperated moment. “Celatus…” he sighed. “Just – _tell me.”_

            Celatus’ hands were beginning to twitch and gesticulate, and his strides were long and quick enough for Vannus to almost need to jog to keep up. “They were destroyed where they were less likely to be heard,” he said. “That says it was a crime to which forethought was given. And beneath the torches, as opposed to merely smashed against any wall – the criminal was _looking for something.”_

            Vannus’ whole brow had furrowed. “Something in the statues?” he said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

            “Doesn’t it?” Celatus countered. “They’re drilled into at the joints, plaster used to attach the limbs, it’s not entirely unbelievable for something small to be hidden in one of these niches.”

            “But how do you _know_ this?” Vannus demanded. “There could be any motive behind these absurd attacks, surely –”

            “I recognised someone at Gellius’ workshop,” Celatus hissed, eyes alight. Vannus looked up at him with his brow all ploughlines and sincerity. “The manager confirmed that he’s been working there for over two years, but I _knew him,_ Vannus.” Celatus grinned in the night – but did not go on until Vannus nodded at him.

            “ _Well?”_

            Celatus’ flashing eyes were all triumph and pleasure.

            “Do you remember, about a year ago, the small case of a pearl, stolen from a senatorial house?”

            Vannus physically flinched back in surprise. “A _pearl?”_ he repeated. “No – when was this?”

            “Early in the year,” said Celatus with a flick of one hand, “it might have been before you returned from Judaea. In any case, the pearl was never found, but the trial ended in the sentencing of a man of Etruscan descent, by the name of Vulca. He was flogged for his troubles – quite harshly, in fact. Tell me,” he added, with a glitter in his eye, turning toward Vannus – “how long would deep whipping wounds take to heal, if they didn’t heal clean?”

            Vannus shrugged. “Could take months,” he said. “If ill-treated, it could be up to a year before the man was able to…” His gaze snapped back up to Celatus, who smiled in approval.

            “His cousin,” he said. “Vulca’s cousin has been employed at Gellius’ workshop for nearly two years now. I didn’t ask, in case it might arouse suspicion, but the connection was not difficult to make.”

            “Vulca knew the place, and went there,” Vannus concluded. “He _did_ steal the pearl.”

            Celatus nodded. “In his flight from the vigiles that day, no doubt, he hid it in one of the statues in progress,” he said – “pressed it into the plaster holding a poorly-carved orator’s arm in place before his arrest.”

            “And the cousin?”

            “No doubt suspects, but doesn’t know – after all, the statues were only smashed recently.”

            “So Vulca has recovered,” said Vannus slowly, “and… is going after the pearl that cost him his health.”

            “Seems a very reasonable course,” Celatus sniffed. They walked in silence and darkness for a moment, and Vannus pursed his lips as he looked up at his friend.

            “We’re going after it too, aren’t we?” he said.

            Celatus smiled.

            “Catia is looking for him as we speak,” he said. “No doubt she will find him within a day or two, and my theory will be confirmed.”

            Vannus looked back at the road ahead, and blew out a breath.

            “Find out anything interesting at work, then?” Celatus asked, with a dark, sardonic twinge to his voice. Vannus scoffed.

            “The emperor’s finally adopted an heir?” he offered. Celatus arched one broad brow down at him – and they both burst into a laughter which lasted until they reached home.

 

            Catia came to them at dawn – simply marched into CCXXIB as Vannus and Celatus were both hunched over bowls of plain oats in, respectively, a sleeping tunic and only underwear – to tell them she’d found Vulca.

            “Holed up in the back room of an inn under a bull’s head,” she reported. “Skinny, miserable little rat, so he looks, and I saw some notes he was making – names, it looked like.”

            “Let me guess,” said Celatus. “Herodianus, Bacenor, Iacomus –”

            “Fulvus and Soeris,” Catia finished with him. “All five, just like that. The first two were crossed out on his notes.”

            Celatus nodded, and asked: “Did he see you? Does he suspect he’s being watched?”

            Catia snorted. “He might have seen me, certainly,” she said – “but he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

            “Thank you, Catia.” Celatus held out to her a handful of copper, and added: “Keep an eye on him for me.”

            “Anything for you, my friend,” she said, with a mocking bow of her head. She counted her money as she left, and her footsteps clattered, light and deliberate, along with the scrape and clink of her fee. Silence enveloped their rooms in her wake.

            “And?” Vannus eventually said. “What now?”

            Celatus swallowed his breakfast.

            “We track down the last of the statues bought from Herennius,” he said, “then talk to Vulca ourselves. Protect the remaining possibilities, then find out for sure if he’s found the right one of five.”

            Vannus pressed his lips together, and sighed down at his food.

            “There’ll be no rest until you get to the bottom of this, will there?”

            Celatus said nothing, but grinned in response.

 

            Their first stop was to meet Tiberius Marius Herodianus and his freedman, Marius Bacenor – the first two victims of Vulca’s nighttime violence. They were uninteresting, Italian men with little to say, except that they had bought their statues from Herennius many months earlier: Herodianus in poor taste, and Bacenor in imitative flattery. Celatus was growling by the time they left.

            Horatius Iacomus was an African carpenter, and incurable gossip, who lived under the Quirinal Hill. He was, puppy-like, excited and intrigued by the hint of mystery Celatus brought, and happily agreed to anything they suggested. What Celatus _suggested_ was the removal of the statue’s arms; an experiment which revealed only plaster, and not a single pearl. Nevertheless, they promised the man that they would be in touch again.

            Iosias Fulvus, from Syria, was significantly less helpful, and refused even to let the two strangers into his apartment upon the Viminal.

            Soeris – by report, an Alexandrian woman – was not to be found in her Aventine lodgings. Under the hawklike eyes of her landlord, Celatus did not attempt to break in.

            “Lunch?” Vannus suggested, out on the chilly street. The sky threatened snow.

            “No,” Celatus murmured. “We need to contact Laevinus, see if he can’t get us into Fulvus and Soeris’ rooms. And no doubt Vulca will be trying the next of his possibilities tonight – if he finds the pearl, we want to be there.”

            Vannus’ face did something strange, his eyes darkening and his brow tilting even as his mouth grew in amusement.

            “Why?” he asked. Celatus frowned at him, and he shrugged. “Why should we be there? If he managed to steal it so long ago, surely the original owners aren’t all that displeased anymore.”

            Celatus stared at him. “It’s a _pearl,_ Vannus,” he said. “An object of such value should be with its rightful owners, or it will inspire still more crime in its pursuit. Should someone discover Vulca’s task, it wouldn’t surprise me if murder became the next step in this little mystery.”

            Vannus pursed his lips, and grumbled. “You sound far too enthusiastic about such an eventuality.”

            “Surely that’s why I have you around?” Celatus smiled.

            Despite himself, Vannus snorted with laughter, and shook his head, as they set off towards the Porta Capena.

 

            Laevinus was far too calm for a man facing down an angry and demanding Cornelius Celatus.

            “We’re on the same trail as him!” Celatus shouted, in Laevinus’ office. “Surely you can spare a few men to retrieve stolen goods!”

            “Celatus,” Laevinus sighed, “I’d love to help, but it’s not in our duties! We can’t go guarding every single –”

            “I’m not asking for _every single,_ legate, I am asking for _three men!”_

            “Three men who could be the difference between lives saved and a house burnt to ashes!” cried the soldier. “My answer is no!”

            Vannus, standing without the door, smiled tightly at the stares of passing vigiles.

            “All right, one, then,” came Celatus’ growl from the other room. “I’ll take one house, Piso another, and _one_ of your men can watch the last.”

            Vannus imagined he could already see the way Laevinus tilted his silvered head in frustration.

            “Surely,” he was groaning, _“surely_ you have some other lackey you can pass this off to.”

            “None,” Celatus snapped. “None trustworthy enough, none trained and wary.” There was a long pause, in which Vannus sensed his roommate’s victory. “You know as well as I,” the patrician continued, more subdued, “how much chaos a jewel like this can incite. Better to tuck it away safely now, where it belongs, than to lose it again.”

            Laevinus’ sigh was long and loud, and defeated.

            “I’ll do it,” he said, though his tone spoke of his immediate regret at the decision. “I’ll take the last house, we can wrap this all up and forget I ever told you about some bloody smashed statues. Juno above…”

            The door was flung open, and Celatus appeared in the doorway, grinning.

            “We have our company,” he sang in triumph. “Come on, we need to plan before night falls what we’ll do.”

 

            A messenger was sent to find Catia, and she appeared before them at CCXXIB, though not without a suspicious eye on Laevinus, which he generously returned.

            “Catia Hiberna, isn’t it?” he growled, with arms crossed over his chest. “Not too busy snatching coins from strangers to help a friend?”

            Her smirk was unguarded and proud. “It’s not help if you’re getting paid, legate,” she said. “And where’s your keeper, then?”

            Laevinus scowled at her. “My _slave,”_ he said, “is at a feast for Carmenta. If you _must_ know.”

            Celatus scoffed from where he sat by the table. “Minerva protect me,” he mumbled, “can we get on with things? Catia, is there any news on Vulca’s plans for tonight?”

            She shrugged. “Nothing definite,” she said, “but he’ll no doubt be making a move. You should have seen him – holed away from the other patrons all day, he’s been, sulking like a wet cat.”

            Vannus, standing across the table from Celatus with arms encumbered as Laevinus’, tossed her a frown.

            “What does he look like?” Celatus asked, heedless. “We need to recognise him if he comes to any of the houses this evening, and my colleagueshaven’t seen him before at all.”

            “Skinny,” said Catia, as she dropped onto the couch and slouched back. “Italian; but pale, like he’s been cooped up sick. Thin face, long nose – about your height, legate,” she finished with a nod and bright smile at Laevinus, who scowled.

            “Right then,” Celatus said, standing sharply. “Laevinus will take Iacomus’ house – we know the pearl isn’t there, but we want to know Vulca’s movements nonetheless. Piso will watch Fulvus’ rooms, and I’ll take Soeris’. We’ll reconvene here at dawn and share observations.”

            “And if Vulca shows up?” said Vannus. “What then?”

            Celatus smirked with anticipation. “That all depends on what he does,” he said. “Follow him, negotiate with him, fight him if you must – only keep the pearl in our hands. It must be in one of either Fulvus or Soeris’ statues, it shouldn’t be too hard to recover.”

            They all nodded, and Catia pushed up from her seat.

            “I’ll keep an eye on him then?” she said, with a deliberate look to Celatus. He rolled his eyes, and tossed her a sestertius from his belt. She grinned, and darted away.

            Celatus peered out of one of the narrow windows as she left, at the reddening, darkening sky.

            “We should get moving,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder at Vannus. “We don’t want to keep Vulca waiting.”

 

            Vannus had been expecting a quiet watch. He’d had his fair share of them – more than, in fact – at camps with the Fifteenth Apollonian, and had long since learnt how to keep himself awake and aware, and not so bored that he prayed for danger. What he wasn’t expecting, was for a fruitless plea from years before to now return him when it was least wanted.

            The attack came early and quick. Within a few meagre hours of the start of Vannus’ chilly watch, the form of a large man loomed in the doorway, with a knife already in his hand. Vannus rose to his feet.

            “Was there something you wanted with this house?” he asked.

            The man stepped forward, out of the gloom and into the pale-lit courtyard.

            “Leave,” he said, in no uncertain terms – but Vannus merely cocked his head to one side.

            “Or?”

            The knife rose, and glinted in the moonlight.

            Vannus’ brow twitched sardonically, and his mouth pursed. “You’re not going to do much damage from over there,” he said. “Here, let me help you with that.” He took four steps forward across the space, and met his shadowy opponent. “Now,” he said, low and dangerous – “shall we try this again?”

            The man hissed, and raised his knife; and Vannus had dispatched him in three swift moves. The knife clattered to the cobbles, and the man groaned into unconsciousness, and Vannus thought two things:

_Too easy._

_Oh, shit._

            A hand clapped over his mouth from behind, jerking his head back and down. He grappled first at the hand and arm, then tried to reach back and strike his attacker – but they were too quick and small for him, and his shouts were muffled and muted, and within moments, he was spun on the spot, and his head slammed against the plaster and brick wall. Immediately, his fists fell and his legs turned weak, but he ducked as his opponent tried to strike his head again against the bricks, and twisted around to do the same to the other. Vannus stumbled, blinking hard, and flinched away from a flash of dull-white marble, then caught the thin, wielding arm on its return swing. With a mind-blurring wrench, he took the statuette from his attacker’s hands and swung: the blow missed the other, a woman who ducked beneath it, and the marble shattered against the wall.

            Both figures stood still for a moment, staring at the scattered shards – no pearl in sight – beside the first attacker, out cold, on the ground. Then the thin woman struck forward and, in Vannus’ distraction, thrust him forward, and again struck his head against the wall. Vannus, weakened, elbowed her in the stomach, but was not fast enough to escape another blow of his head against bricks. Finally done, he staggered back, swaying away, and sank to the ground beside the first, dispatched attacker, with his fingers leaving a trail in the air as if to grasp at the wall behind him for support. Before his vision entirely failed, he caught a glimpse of a moving shadow and fleeing heels, and the shattered mess of marble on the floor.

            Then everything went black, and a final wakeful thought flashed in his mind.

_ Per Mercurium – Celatem mone._

 

            Vannus woke to Seia’s face, close and worried, as she tapped at his cheeks.

            “Piso?” she was saying. “Piso, wake up.”

            He sighed and groaned, and registered the dawn.

            “Seia?”

            She breathed out with relief, and helped to pull him up into a sitting position. There was a waterskin at her hip, which she deftly held out for him, at the same time as she washed a damp cloth across his brow. The man Vannus had knocked out was gone.

            “Hirtia sent me,” Seia told him, in a voice that itched and wavered. “Celatus was attacked in the night, she said it was likely you too had been hurt.”

            Vannus met her eye from beneath her ministering hand.

            “Celatus was hurt?”

            Her mouth turned flat.

            “Where is he?” Vannus ducked away from under her hand and forced himself to his feet, swaying with his eyes shut until his head cleared. “Seia,” he pleaded – _“where is he?”_

            She held out the waterskin, and said: “Mykale has him.”

            Vannus shook his head once, and begged Apollo for clarity.

            “Thank you,” he breathed – and he took the water, and ran.

 

            By the time Vannus reached Mykale’s house, the sun and city were wide awake. Her door was closed and bolted, and, panting, Vannus beat upon it with his fists and cried out.

            “Mykale! Mykale, please, I need to see him!”

            He pounded and pounded on the wood, until finally a bolt scraped, and the door opened by a fraction. Vannus tried to push his way in, but Mykale dug in her heels.

            “He’s not well,” she insisted; at the same time as, from the shadowy room behind her, another voice called out. It was hoarse and weak, and wavered a little – but it was unmistakeably Celatus. Vannus’ eyes went wide, and he launched his whole body at the door with a shout of his friend’s name, though still Mykale held her ground and pushed back against him.

            “Mykale,” Celatus croaked from within – “let him in.”

            She pursed her lips, and glared – first at Vannus, then at the unseen Celatus – but still relented. As soon as the door had opened, Vannus pushed his way through in time to see Celatus struggle to his feet from a low couch in the corner. There was a cut, stained red, above his right temple, and his left wrist had been bandaged, along with a scattered assortment of cuts and bruises on his arms, which only made Vannus’ stomach drop at what marks might still be hidden by his tunic. Celatus smiled at him, without strength, and Vannus dropped Seia’s waterskin as his halted feet tumbled back into movement.

            “Mithras and Mars, _Celatus…”_ he breathed, as he crossed the room and clasped Celatus’ outstretched right hand. They drew each other into an embrace – a little awkward with Celatus’ injured wrist – and Vannus pressed his lips to Celatus’ cheek and held them there, just for a moment, with his eyes closed and Celatus’ heart beating strongly behind his ribs. Eventually, and with a gasp, Vannus tucked his chin over Celatus’ shoulder even as the kiss was returned. It struck him, in that moment, that they had never _done_ this before: their movement from strangers, to cohabitants, to scowling acquaintances and friends, had been so stilted and abrupt that they’d never really happened upon a time in which the greeting was appropriate; let alone necessary, considering their shared lives. Vannus dismissed the musing, however, in favour of his present inquiry.

            “Seia found me,” he said, still short of breath from the hasty journey. “She said you were attacked, she wouldn’t say –” He took quick, harsh breath. “She wouldn’t say how you were, I feared the worst.”

            Vannus felt the corner of Celatus’ smile against his hair before they drew apart.

            “I’m not entirely well,” he said, “but it would be in our best interests to… exaggerate my injuries.” With a wince, he backed away to sit down on the couch, and though Vannus flinched forward to help him, Mykale’s hands were already there, supporting his descent.

            “Someone else has been following Vulca,” said Vannus, and Celatus nodded.

            “Menna patched me up nice and quick,” he explained, “and sent for Hirtia. She sent Seia after you and went after Laevinus herself – he’s fine, by the way,” he added. “Better off than you. I may have – blundered in my fight.” He smiled, almost shyly, up at Vannus, and immediately winced.

            “Lie down, you fool,” Mykale hissed, pressing at his shoulder. “You may not be dying, but you’re hardly in good health.”

            Celatus did as she ordered, and sighed. When he next looked up, it was in time to catch Vannus making a quick and worried assessment of his injuries with only his eyes.

            “Don’t look so scared, Vannus,” Celatus murmured up to him. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

            Despite his lingering worry, Vannus scoffed as he stepped closer to the side of the couch and took Mykale’s place, perched by Celatus’ hip, as she moved away.

            “What makes you think I’m scared for you?” he mocked. “No doubt whoever attacked us got away with the pearl. If it wasn’t in Fulvus or Iacomus’ hands, it was with Soeris; and I hardly think you managed to stop them from getting _that.”_

            A wide expression of surprised triumph spread upon Celatus’ face. “Fulvus didn’t have it?” he said. “You saw the statue?”

            Vannus shrugged. “Broke it in the fight,” he said. “No pearl to be seen, and certainly my second assailant got away too quick to check for it.”

            “Second assailant?” Celatus repeated, frowning. Vannus smirked.

            “You don’t think I’d let _one man_ take me down, do you?” he chided. “The first one was easy, but the second took me by surprise. She was smaller – quicker than me.”

            Celatus’ eyes darted aside, an almost bashful look away from his friend. His mouth was flat, and his cheeks empty of scorn.

            “In any case, the pearl wasn’t there,” Vannus continued, eschewing mockery. “If they have Soeris’ statue, they have the pearl. There’s nothing to be done.”

            However, a subtle but significant curl had come to one corner of Celatus’ mouth, and when he met Vannus’ gaze, it was with a flash of silver in his eyes.

            “Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to be pessimistic, Vannus.”

            Vannus caught his stare and held it – and pursed his lips.

            “What are you saying?”

            Celatus’ smile was insufferable.

            “Soeris no longer owns the statue.”

            Vannus’ brow lifted, then creased. _“What?”_

            “I broke into her rooms,” Celatus explained, grinning, “when I went over to take my watch. There was a significant lack of valuable or decorative goods in the household – I don’t doubt she’s sold some of her possessions to make up funds, perhaps she owes a debt, who knows – but the statue wasn’t there. The men who attacked me won’t have found what they were looking for.”

            “Jupiter’s sake – _Celatus…”_

            Vannus’ eyes were wide as he leaned forward over his knees, and wiped a hand over his mouth.

            “So where is it?” he finally said. Celatus shrugged.

            “That’s beyond me.”

            Vannus let out a long and low sigh, as his brow sank to rest upon his clasped hands.

            “What do we do now?” he asked, in a hoarse voice which implied that he did not expect an answer he would like. Again – confirming the fear in Vannus’ voice – Celatus shrugged.

            “I need to talk to Catia,” he said, “and Laevinus. We need to find out who else is chasing Vulca.”

            “It must be someone with power and people at hand,” Vannus suggested. “To send men to attack all three of us, it’s not just one person alone.”

            Celatus nodded, then closed his eyes with a hint of a grimace. When he opened them again to talk, his grey eyes were dull.

            “We need to find out what happened to Soeris’ statue,” he said – though the words had slurred just a bit. “We need to find the woman herself, at least.”

            Vannus’ mouth was tight. “We need to get you something for the pain you’re in,” he replied. Celatus opened his mouth to protest, but Vannus overrode him. “Did Menna give you anything?” Celatus shook his head, and closed his eyes. “Then I’m going home to get you some myrtle or something. Oh, Aesculapius…” He heaved himself to his feet and turned to Mykale, who was just then unrolling a star chart on her desk. “Mykale,” he asked, “do you have any honey?”

            “In the kitchen,” she said, looking up.

            Vannus was already heading for the door. “Can you put some on the cut on his forehead while I’m out?”

            She nodded. “And I’ll keep him in place for you,” she added, with a little smile, which he returned as she disappeared through an inner door.

            “Thank you,” Vannus said as she left, and turned back to Celatus, who was scowling, but with less ferocity than usual. “Listen to what she says,” he ordered, “and _stay put.”_ He opened the door and stepped out onto the street, tossing over his shoulder: “Valete!”

            The door shut, and what little morning brightness had been let in with Vannus left the room. Celatus huffed a breath through his nose, even as his frown smoothed away into something rather more distant than ire.

            “Don’t look so forlorn,” Mykale chuckled, as she reappeared with a little clay jar in hand. “He’ll be back.”

            “I know _that,”_ Celatus growled; but Mykale only laughed, and opened the jar as she sat by his side.

 

            In CCXXIB, Vannus set honey, and sprigs of sage, and a scattering of almond seeds on the lararium in his room, and prayed to Apollo and Aesculapius for their watchful care.

 

            Only a day after the attacks, Celatus was already too restless for his own good. He rose when Vannus told him to lie down, refused to eat when Mykale cooked, harassed her clients and drove Vannus to tight-lipped vigilance. It was a relief, therefore, when Catia appeared after lunch, red-cheeked and spitting.

            “Tramping up and down the Aventine looking for you will cost extra, you know,” she growled as she entered. Mykale stared at her, and stuttered a protest, but was overrun by Catia dropping down by Celatus’ feet on the couch, and fled to the adjacent room with a huff.

            “As if my morning weren’t troublesome enough,” Catia was sighing, “I come all the way to the via Pistoris to try to find you and Hirtia says you’ve gone and got yourself attacked?”

            Celatus’ mouth was bitter and scrunched, in counterpoint to Vannus’ smirk next to him.

            “What is it, Catia?” the _nobilis_ demanded, instead of answering.

            “Someone else is following your man,” she said, “that’s for certain.”

            Three pairs of eyes went wide, and Vannus’ hand shot out from where he sat to stop Celatus from trying to rise.

            “You saw them?” said Celatus. “You saw those who attacked us?”

            “I don’t know about _those_ _who attacked you,”_ Catia replied, “but I do know that someone else is keeping watch on Vulca. I’ve seen him about, took until today to confirm my suspicions.”

            “And?” cried Celatus. _“Who?”_

            Catia shrugged, frowning at him. “Tall man,” she said. “African. Wide-faced, all muscles. Scars all over his arms, could be a soldier, maybe just a gang member.”

            Vannus had stiffened, spine lifting, in his seat. “Or a gladiator,” he said. His hands tightened, on Celatus’ arm and in his own lap, and Celatus glanced up at him, then to Catia.

            “Did you see anyone else?” he snapped. “A small, pale woman, with short dark hair? She wears a toga?”

            Catia shook her head and shrugged with her mouth. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

            “It’s her,” Celatus snarled. “It’s Mercurialis – of _course_ she wants to get her hands on a pearl like that, think of what she could do with that kind of wealth!”

            “The scarred man,” said Vannus to Catia – “what did he do?”

            Catia was watching them with bright and narrowed eyes. “Nothing much,” she answered slowly. “I’ve seen him hanging around the same inn. He could’ve just been a regular, but he’s had his eyes on Vulca, and today I saw him go up to Vulca’s rooms and look around. Definitely suspicious – he wasn’t just there to rob the man, he didn’t even take anything, though there’s money in the room.”

            “Mykale,” Celatus said, as if he’d come to a decision – then called out to the next room: _“Mykale, we need you!”_

 

            She changed her clothes, and cleaned her hands. Vannus caught up one of her chickens from the courtyard, and, in the sunlight there, broke its neck, and set the carcass on a table by Mykale’s delicate knives.

            “You’re lucky I still had time to pray to Carmenta on the feast day,” she muttered, as she took a seat at the table. Across from her, Celatus and Vannus shared a bench; Catia had already disappeared.

            Mykale raised hands and face to the sky, and spoke.

            “ _Carmentis Potens, Parcae Imperantes, et Apollo Divine, et omnes divi divaeque, quo nomine cumque vultis – iam vos precari, cum dono, ut mihi, tuae famulae, nutum aperiatis. Responsum quaero – quantam Aulus Cassius Mercurialis cognitionem habet de loco margaritae, Vulca abditae? Aut ea aut Amulius Cornelius Celatus vincet? Hoc peto, et oro ut monstretis!”_

            Vannus’ hands were clasped before his mouth, and his eyes were directed only on Mykale’s little form. Beside him – and despite himself – Celatus stared, waiting with short and quiet breath, as Mykale lowered her head and her hands, and took up her knife. She cut at the chicken’s carcass; inspected the organs, silently, then pulled them out, and took the liver in her bloody fingers. Hours seemed to pass as she did her work, until finally she looked up from the stinking, hallowed mess with a smudge of blood on her nose, and said:

            “Mercurialis doesn’t know where it is. She will not find the pearl before you do.”

            As one, Vannus and Celatus let out a heavy sigh of relief.

            “Come on,” Celatus snapped, and levered himself to his feet with his hands on the bench, the wall, and Vannus’ offered arm. “Just because the omens are good doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do. We _must_ find that pearl before our circumstances change!”

            “Celatus, you’re _injured –”_

            “Not so badly as all that,” Celatus scoffed, and tried to lead the way back inside; but Mykale’s voice stopped them.

            “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” she called to them from across the yard. Celatus and Vannus looked over, and she held up the chicken’s liver in one reddened hand while giving them a very significant, pouting glare.

 

            Lunch was sacrificial chicken, roasted in the excellent fashion which Mykale had learnt through long experience.

 

            At Vannus’ insistence, they paid off a cart-driver to give them a lift from the Aventine to the subura. Celatus was just about stable, with his wrist still bandaged, and his cuts no longer bled; but Vannus doubted whether he would be able to remain upright under too much strain, for he still limped, at least. The inn which Catia had mentioned was not hard to find – its sloppy, bull’s head sign was a giveaway – and from there, neither was Vulca. He was as Catia had described him: long-faced, sickly, and sequestered away from the rest of the room with a half-loaf of bread and a gloomy expression. Celatus sniffed and lifted his chin – then looked down to Vannus by his shoulder. Vannus looked up to him and frowned, so that Celatus widened his eyes and threw a small but obvious nod in Vulca’s direction.

            Vannus rolled his eyes and marched towards Vulca’s table as Celatus headed for the bar.

            “Sorry,” he mumbled as he clambered onto the bench across from Vulca – “this seat taken?”

            Vulca glanced up at him with eyes so wide the whites were showing, and shrugged with one shoulder and a shake of his head.

            “No, go ahead,” he muttered, and returned his eyes to his meal.

            Vannus sniffed and nodded in thanks. He watched Vulca’s hands – calloused, but thin – on his bread for a moment; glanced over first one shoulder, at the rest of the room, then the other, to where Celatus stood at the counter; then turned back to the table before him and cleared his throat.

            “Sorry, uh,” he began, licking his lips – “can I just ask – are you staying here?”

            Vulca met his gaze with a downturned mouth.

            “It’s just, me and my friend,” Vannus went on, with a vague nod behind him, “we’re looking for a place to stay for a few days. You don’t – happen to know about this place or anything, eh? Or have somewhere to recommend?”

            Vulca shrugged at him, and said only: “It’s good enough.”

            Vannus chuckled, with half a smirk. “Good _enough?”_ he repeated with a grin. “Are the rates at least worth it?”

            “For what you get,” Vulca conceded. Vannus laughed again, and was pleased to see a little lightening at the side of Vulca’s mouth. He sat back in seat, with his hands loose atop the table.

            “Ah, but at least the barmaids are nosy, right?”

            Vulca laughed with a wide mouth. “I _wish,”_ he said. “It’s nice to be left alone, sure, but this place practically _encourages_ misanthropy…”

            Vannus raised his eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, really? Well, my friend will love it then!”

            Vulca chuckled with him, and, at the same moment, Celatus appeared with two cups of watered wine and a plate of bread smeared with cheese, a slice of which he was already chewing.

            “You’ll be pleased,” said Vannus, as Celatus sat perpendicular to the other two. “My new friend says the staff here are quiet to a fault.”

            Celatus chewed and swallowed. “The staff, certainly,” he rumbled. “But what about a tall and threatening man with scars on his arms?”

            His eyes were pale and bright as he pinned a paling Vulca with his gaze.

            “I –” Vulca stammered. “I – what?”

            “He went into your rooms this morning,” said Celatus, with a shrug, as Vannus snatched up a piece of bread. “Didn’t you know?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vulca returned, in a high and trembling voice.

            “Vulca, you mustn’t mistrust us,” said Vannus. “But we know about the pearl.”

            Vulca, however, shoved back his stool and made to stand. “I don’t have to talk to you –”

            With a low _smack,_ however, Celatus dropped his hand to grasp the edge of Vulca’s seat.

            “You want to, however,” he said, low and level. “By the very gods, you must believe us.”

            “There are people who want to harm you,” Vannus murmured, as he leaned low across the table. “You must have seen them, two nights ago, when you went to retrieve one of the statues.”

            Vulca dropped back down the short space to his chair.

            “They certainly harmed _us,”_ said Celatus, “and we were only there to help. But believe me when I tell you that this is not a safe, nor an unknown business in which you are employed. _Others know,_ Vulca. Others with power and no compulsions about injury and murder.”

            Vulca swallowed, visibly, and glanced between Vannus and Celatus’ stern faces.

            “… What do I do?”

            Celatus leaned back from where he had held Vulca’s chair, and reached for his wine.

            “Neither Iacomus nor Fulvus had the right statue in their possession,” he recounted. “That leaves Soeris.”

            “She sold hers,” said Vulca, and Celatus smiled around the lip of his cup.

            “Do you know to whom?” asked Vannus.

            Vulca’s gaze snapped over to him. “No,” he said.

            “Yes you do,” said Celatus after swallowing. Again, Vulca’s gaze whipped around.

            “Not yet,” he qualified.

            “So you have suspicions.”

            Vulca said nothing; but his eyes were wide again, and his mouth a thin, pinched line.

            “Whom do you suspect, Vulca?” said Vannus, so very quietly. Vulca glanced between the two of them again before he answered.

            “I can’t say.”

            Celatus pursed his mouth. “My good fellow,” he growled, “this is a matter far larger than your petty stolen goods.”

            “I _can’t – say,”_ Vulca insisted. “I don’t know you, I barely know what I’m looking for. Even if I was sure, I – I wouldn’t tell you.” His voice was trembling again, but he raised his chin. “I’m sorry, but I cannot say.”

            Vannus frowned around a mouthful of bread; but Celatus, to his side, merely hissed out a breath through his nostrils and leaned forward over the table with a thinned mouth.

            “When you figure it out,” he muttered – “or, very possibly, when you are threatened or attacked directly and you _realise_ just how dire your situation is – we may be found at number two-hundred-and-twenty-one, on the via Pistoris. Aventine Hill. I suggest –” though his tone brooked no argument – “that you remember this.”

            With that, he spun in his place, stood, and swept into the crowd, with his toga flaring behind him. Vannus turned to follow him, and as he did, grabbed two remaining slices of bread – leaving one for Vulca – and gulped down what was left of his wine.

            “His manner is no good,” he added before he stood, “but he’s right. This is much bigger than you realise, and you may need us before the end.”

            Vulca said nothing; only stared, as Vannus left and didn’t look back from Celatus’ exiting form.

 

            “Keep your eyes on him,” Celatus muttered to Catia, who was leaning against a wall two streets away when they passed. She cocked an eyebrow, and her scar rose with her smirk.

 

            There was nothing to be done; and it was this fact which most frustrated Celatus. There was nowhere to begin searching for Mercurialis – or her henchman – no matter how much Celatus willed there to be, and every time he began to search in one direction, he thought of a dozen more places to look, or people to ask, and could not find reason to prioritise any of them. He paced back and forth in CCXXIB, and sent his urchins out on errands, and waited for news – any news – while Vannus sucked on his teeth and sharpened his knives in between glances: at Celatus, out of the windows and onto the street, into the courtyard, around their very rooms – as if their enemy could be anywhere all at once. Vulca did not appear.

            In frustration, then, Celatus sent Vannus to Soeris’ apartment, while he remained behind at CCXXIB to collect reports from his urchins, and await any possible word from Catia. Vannus merely nodded, and strapped his dagger onto his belt below the cloak in which he huddled. Outside, there was frost in the air, and faint, reaching shadows of white in every corner where people’s feet didn’t reach, and he curled his toes in his boots and walked briskly against the cold.

            Soeris herself, it turned out, was a plain, if ageing, woman, with dark skin, darker eyes, and a scowl which she bore out of half-hearted necessity. She snapped at Vannus in a weary voice when she opened the door wide enough to see his face, but not to admit him.

            “Who are you, what do you want?”

            Vannus did not try for a smile.

            “My name is Caelius Piso,” he said. “You used to own a little marble statue, bought from Herennius.”

            Soeris closed her eyes. “I used to own a great many things, Caelius Piso,” she said, with a faint glare. “I do not own them anymore.”

            “Please,” Vannus muttered, “it is of vital importance that we find this statue. I’m working with the vigiles – my friend, Cornelius Celatus, he’s a detective – we believe something might have been hidden in it. Can you remember – please, can you remember to whom you sold the statue?”

            She stared at him from behind the door, with a faint frown of scepticism between her brows.

            “I’m not certain,” was her eventual answer. “I sold a good deal of my belongings to a dealer on the via Frumentarius, near the river.” She shrugged. “I really didn’t care to take note of what went where. I’m sure you understand.”

            Vannus tempered his face with a little smile. “I do,” he said. “I am sorry for your hardships.”

            Soeris granted him a small and ember-like expression of softness. “Your sympathy is appreciated,” she said. “Vale, Caelius Piso.”

            He nodded – “Vale,” – and left, as her door closed behind her.

 

            The via Frumentarius was nearby, and busy with work even in the winter. Stores were secured, and shipments taken from the boats on the Tiber, even as every spray of river water threatened frost or an icy blade. Vannus threaded between the warehouses until he reached a little shop which bought and sold trinkets and valuables.

            The shopkeeper remembered Soeris’ visit; but she did not keep records, and could tell Vannus nothing about where the statue had gone.

 

            Vannus returned to the via Pistoris with a heavy heart. Celatus, thankfully, was no longer pacing, but had resigned himself to lying draped atop the couch, with one forearm hung over his eyes and his toga bundled over him like a blanket.

            “Any luck?” he said as Vannus entered, in a tone which doubted that the answer would be positive.

            “Soeris led me to a dealer near the river,” Vannus replied with a sigh, “but that was a dead end.”

            Celatus hummed, a short monotone of unsurprise and disappointment, as Vannus moved towards the kitchen. Outside, the sky had darkened and the chill increased, and Vannus welcomed the warmth of the hearth as he passed it.

            “And you?” he asked, as he sifted through the paraphernalia on the table – half of it food, and the other half sheets of scribblings and bits and pieces of Celatus’ experiments. “Have you had any good news from your sources?”

            Celatus let out a noise of irritation and disgust. _“No,”_ he groaned from his place. “Nothing more than hazy whispers and vague hints, nothing _tangible,_ nothing I can _work with._ I’ve spent all day trying to collate the data, but it doesn’t work, none of it _fits!”_

            Vannus merely sighed, and picked up a few chunks of hardening bread and a half-eaten bowl of cold lentils.

            “This yours?” he asked, holding out the bowl.

            Celatus grunted, and shrugged, and Vannus rolled his eyes and took it anyway, to sit beside the fire as he toasted his bread. Even then, however, there was a clatter from without – as of running feet on the street below – and Celatus raised his elbow to peer out into the room. He caught Vannus’ eye; and then the clatter resolved into the rattle and thunder of feet on their stairs, and Celatus sat up in place as Vannus, slowly, placed his food on the ground, and stood.

            And then Vulca was stumbling, panting, into their rooms, and crying: “He found me. The man you talked about, he threatened me. I told him where the last statue might be.”

            Celatus shot to his feet.

            “That woman,” Vulca went on – “with the scar, she said she was working for you –”

            “Catia, yes,” said Celatus. “She talked to you?”

            Vulca nodded hysterically. “She said she’d watch the man who threatened me –”

            Vannus caught Celatus’ eye. “He’s dangerous,” he said. “Catia may get hurt.”

            Celatus’ hands twitched into fists at his sides.

            “Where?” he demanded of Vulca. _“Where_ did you send this man?”

 

            Well into the watches of the night, the three men sped through the streets, swathed in cloaks against the cold, Vannus with his sword at his side and his dagger strapped to Celatus’ belt. Their path took them straight to the valley below the Caelian, and a dark and empty street where Vulca pointed up to a window and said: “There. Soeris sold her statue to Baebia near the Aventine, who sold it to this woman Artoria and her family.”

            Vannus grunted. “She told me she didn’t keep records of her sales.”

            “She doesn’t,” Vulca murmured. “I had to ask a lot of people what they’d seen to try to track it down. But I know Artoria has it – I’ve seen it.”

            Vannus raised a brow at him sidelong. “And you’ve known this for how long?”

            Vulca bristled. “I only confirmed my suspicions this afternoon!” he hissed. “Then I went back to my lodgings in the subura, and a few hours later this – this man threatened me, and I came to you, and –”

            “All right, Vulca, that will do,” said Celatus – though his voice was rather softer than his words seemed to allow. “Vannus, do you see anyone around?”

            His mouth was tight. “No,” he finally said, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”

            “You stay here then. Go inside, keep an eye out – keep that statue _out_ of Mercurialis’ hands.”

            “And you?” said Vannus, and looked up at his friend.

            “Vulca and I will find Catia,” he replied. “Hopefully she’s still around the subura. We’ll meet back on the street here in the morning.”

            Vannus nodded, sternly, and stepped back into the shadows of one of the buildings behind him as Celatus and Vulca started off. Only just before they turned the corner did Vannus blow hot air on his hands, and whisper a swift prayer.

             _“Iuppiter, Iuno_ _et_ _Minerva – eum custodite.”_

 

            He searched the buildings opposite, beside, and behind that of Artoria, then crept into the courtyard of her insulaand found the windows and door to her rooms. He crouched in the hallway, tucked up in his cloak, and prepared to keep watch.

 

            Just past dawn, when Vannus went down again into the street, he met Celatus with not only Vulca, but Laevinus, and three armed vigiles, in tow.

            “Vannus,” Celatus said in greeting as he strode up. “Catia has Mercurialis’ man in her sights, you need to come with me.”

            Vannus glanced up at the building behind him, just beginning to stir with life.

            “And the statue?” he said. “Shouldn’t we just take it?”

            “No,” Celatus snapped, as shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. If Mercurialis knows it’s gone, she’ll come after all of us. As things are, we might still be able to trap her. Laevinus and his men will stay here and guard the building – we _need_ to follow this lead Catia’s given us!”

            Vannus nodded sternly, and turned to the legate who had come up at his side. “Laevinus?” he said. “Are you ready?”

            He smiled to one side. “We can guard a statue all well and good. Celatus has given us descriptions of your Mercurialis and her man, we’ll know them if we see them.”

            “Good, now that’s settled,” Celatus said, rattling, and tugged at Vannus’ arm – “we need to _go.”_

 

            They left Laevinus in charge by the Caelian, and all but ran to the subura, where Catia was waiting for them outside the bull’s head inn, her arms folded across her chest and her lip twitching.

            “I can’t be certain,” she growled, as she pushed off from the wall to meet them in their approach. “I can’t be certain he’s still there, it’s been all night and I’m only one person –”

            “Just show us,” Celatus insisted. “Show us where he’s staying, that in itself will do.”

            She led them, two streets down, around a corner, and back up the rise, until they were around the opposite side of the block they’d faced when they met her. Catia pointed up at a crooked and cramped insula above them, its outer beams blackened by fire but still standing, and said: “There. First floor, back room, up the stairs and to the right. I followed him, more or less, and I don’t _think_ he saw me.”

            “You don’t _think?”_ Vannus repeated.

            “ _He’s good,”_ Catia hissed at him. “Very good, he knows what he’s doing. If you’re after him, you must be crafty.”

            “Thank you, Catia,” Celatus murmured, with his eyes on the building before them. “Would you go and keep your eyes on Vulca while we work?”

            She nodded, and muttered as she left – “Mars and Jupiter be with you…”

 

            They waited on the mercenary’s building until midday: Vannus watched the front, while Celatus snuck around into the alleys behind, and made sure there could be no escape by a back route. Still, at lunch, when they reconvened in a lane beside the building too narrow for the width of Vannus’ shoulders, there was nothing to be reported.

            “Not a sign of him,” Vannus growled. “And I would know him, Celatus, I would know him anywhere if I saw him.”

            “I don’t doubt that you would,” Celatus murmured, with his head lowered in conspiracy. “I fear we may have wasted the morning in waiting – there’s nothing to be done but to search his rooms.”

            Vannus let out a steady, strained breath. “Celatus –”

            “I know it’s risky,” Celatus spat, “but there’s nothing to be done about that, now, is there?”

            Vannus met his eye, scowling.

            “I’ll go.”

            He overrode the protest which was forming in Celatus’ opening mouth.

            “ _I will go,”_ he repeated, “and you will find Catia and Vulca, and order me some food, and we will meet again at the inn. Understood?”

            Celatus’ mouth tightened; but he acquiesced with a nod. Before he turned away, however, Vannus stepped forward, reached under Celatus’ cloak with a snatching, darting movement, to grip the Apollo-adorned handle of his dagger, still strapped to Celatus’ side. The movement tugged Celatus just a little closer in their cramped quarters.

             _“Te custodi,”_ he commanded. _“Apollo tecum erit.”_

            Celatus smirked to one side, just a little.

            “You sound very sure of him,” he teased.

             _“Celatus,”_ Vannus growled. “Just – _be mindful.”_

            Celatus sobered just enough to rest his fingers over Vannus’ on the dagger’s hilt.

            “I will,” he said. Vannus released his hold on the knife; but before they turned away from each other, Celatus gripped his hand in its retreat, and pulled him close enough for a parting kiss to his cheek. Two words did he murmur in Vannus’ ear before he left:

             _“Te custodi.”_

 

            Without preamble, and with false assurance in his shoulders and stride, Vannus strode out onto the main street and through the front entrance of the insula they’d been watching. He kept his eyes open and about him, glancing over this shoulder and that, and leapt up the stairs near the back of the building with speed and silence. The door he was aiming for was unmarked, and unremarkable but for his interest in it; and as he approached, on steady feet, he drew his sword from its simple sheath and held it close. With his back to the wall, he reached out a hand, and rapped on the wood.

            Vannus stood there for a very long moment, still and listening, though no sound and no movement drew his attention, and the door remained stubbornly closed. He inched closer, then, and reached for the latch, which turned easily under his hand.

            No attacker met him in the entryway, and no dark, scarred arms reached for his.

            With mounting alarm, Vannus pushed open the door and found –

            Nothing.

            The single room was bare: no furniture but the stone-and-wood bed by one wall with no mattress or cloth, no bags or clothes or belongings, no weapons, hidden or drawn against him; and above all, no person – no familiar and terrible gladiator, no menacing, toga-clad woman – to be seen. Vannus’ arm fell by his side as he entered and stared about him. He turned in a circle in the centre of the room with eyes wide and lungs working heavily after the suspense of his approach – but there was nothing, nothing to be found.

            There was only a moment of stillness, then, before his slumped shoulders grew once more tense, and his hand gripped his sword with more force than before.

            Vannus stormed out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

            “Nothing!”

            Celatus looked up as Vannus, shouting, approached the table in the inn. Catia and Vulca, sitting with him, followed his gaze.

            Vannus’ sword was slammed with a metallic clatter upon the tabletop, and he sat and snarled.

            “He wasn’t there, the room was empty, I checked the _entire building_ and he _wasn’t there!”_

            After only a moment’s pause, Celatus’ fists rose and slammed upon the wood.

            “He must have left,” he said. “Seen Catia, or seen us, and snuck away without our notice. Have you any idea how recently the room was emptied?”

            “None,” Vannus growled. “I asked the landlady, I asked the neighbours, and funnily enough? They knew nothing, or disclosed nothing, at least. I couldn’t tell from the room alone, it was _stripped,_ Celatus, stripped to the bare bones of the place.” His mouth stretched in an awful mockery of a smile, fuelled by anger rather than any semblance of mirth or joy. “Oh, he must be good.”

            “We need to contact Laevinus,” said Celatus. “Vulca, you must keep your nose out of this,” he added, as he looked up at his other companions. “Catia, keep your eye on him, keep him out of danger.”

            “I will do what I can,” she nodded, and not even Laevinus could have doubted her.

            “Vannus, you’re with me,” Celatus went on. He pushed across a plate of bread and some chunks of roasted pork. “Eat quickly.”

            Vannus took one piece of meat between his teeth, and another in a dirty napkin snatched from the table, then tore the remains of the loaf in half and added it to his packet.

            “Let’s go.”

 

            At the Caelian, Vannus visited Laevinus and his men in each of their hiding places, while Celatus checked in Artoria’s rooms. They met again in an alley a block away, down the street.

            “The statue is safe,” said Celatus, and was met with Vannus’ report.

            “They’ve seen nothing all day.”

            Celatus’ fists shook at his sides, even as Vannus’ left hand curled once and fell still, and the _nobilis_ let out an explosive sound from his throat.

 

            Celatus went to his brother. Vannus visited Seia’s shop, and spent a few scant moments with her and Menna as he tried desperately to clear his head. Then he visited Mykale, who had no advice beyond her dark and worried eyes, and the sleek black cat which she held in her arms.

            “I told you that Mercurialis will not get the pearl before you,” was all that she could say.

            Vannus stopped in to see Hirtia, and reassure her purse-mouthed fretting at their long absences. Then he went to Laevinus and each of his men, only to hear that nothing had changed, and the statue was still in place.

            As night fell, he went back to the subura, to head for the bull’s head inn. But as he approached the right street, there came the sound of shouts and commotion, and before he could do more than frown and lean into his pace, Catia appeared at his side, with a new gash ready to scar along her shoulder and blood splattered all down her right arm.

            “Piso, oh thank Vesta and Diana,” she cried. “Turn and go, _run!_ Mercurialis’ man found us, he showed up out of nowhere, no warning – Vulca is dead, there was nothing I could do –”

            She grabbed at his arm and pulled, but even as he turned to go with her, he had to wrench himself away.

            “Celatus,” he said. “Celatus may come back here, what if –”

            “Isn’t he with you?” Catia panted, staring about them. “Piso, there’s a _murderer_ on our trail, we can’t –”

            “I can’t let him just walk into danger, I don’t know where he is!”

            But Catia’s eyes were fixed over his shoulder, and with only a hasty murmur – “Oh, gods above and below –” she was sprinting away from him.

            Vannus turned, and saw a familiar pair of scarred arms upon a familiar, and approaching, form.

            “Mithras and Mars…”

            He drew his sword – but even then, he would not dig in his heels, but stepped back, and away from his opponent’s march forward. There was blood on the African’s arms ( _Must have cut Vulca’s throat,_ Vannus’ mind spat out in its hurry), and he knew not whether he could take the man in the open street, nor whether Celatus would have preferred him alive, nor, indeed, whether Celatus wanted anything more at all – whether he was still with his brother, or had been at the bull’s head and been slaughtered as Catia left.

            “Vannus?”

            The voice – the delightful, wished-for, deep and concerned voice – came from an alley to his left, and immediately, Vannus knew his course. He darted into the alley, grabbed Celatus’ arm as he passed, and led them sprinting he knew not where, only away, _away_ from their foe.

            “Vulca’s dead,” he cried as they ran, for Celatus – thank all the gods – had had the good grace to trust Vannus’ actions for a plan. “Catia’s run, it’s that gladiator again, he’s after us.”

            “Sollemnis has people on watch,” Celatus panted beside him, as he drew Vannus’ dagger from his belt and glanced behind them in search of their predator. “I know some places where we might look for Mercurialis, where she might be hiding, where she might – be able to strike out for the statue –”

            “Right now,” Vannus gasped, “we need to worry about ourselves!”

            They turned, almost back onto the main road, only to find their hunter coming out of an alley a little way ahead. Both men hissed, and pulled up short, and, as the gladiator caught sight of them, they span in place and sprinted back into the maze of lanes which they’d almost left. At the first opportunity, they turned away from the path they had come, and away from their pursuer, when Celatus gripped at Vannus’ arm and _pulled_ him into one of the houses as they passed. They clattered through a courtyard, up mouldering stairs and onto the roof, and from there leapt from one building to another – sometimes with little need even to jump across houses which sagged and leaned against one another – until they could no longer see their enemy, on any of the roads around, and they slipped down the ragged side of one insula and back onto the street.

            “To the Caelian,” Celatus forced out between breaths, as he swayed all too harshly and held his left arm stiffly at his side. “We need to check on Laevinus. If this is Mercurialis making her move –”

            Vannus nodded to show his understanding, and they set off again, with Vannus’ hand at Celatus’ elbow and without a word.

            Around them, the sky was black and the torches, at their sparse intervals, had been lit, and their heavy breaths plumed before them in the chilly night.

 

            When they came running up to Laevinus’ position across the street from Artoria’s lodgings, he seemed surprised to see them sweating, with weapons drawn, and gasping for breath.

            “Juno above,” he said slowly, “what have you two been running from?”

            “There’s been –” Celatus panted – “no sign? No movement at all?”

            Laevinus shrugged. “Nothing’s changed,” he said. “I checked on each of my men at the beginning of the watch, they all report no movement. What’s _happened?”_

            “Vulca is dead,” Vannus growled between breaths. “It was him, that gladiator I fought – Mercurialis’ man –”

            Laevinus’ eyes had grown large, his expression wide. “He came after you?”

            “We lost him in the subura,” Celatus breathed.

            “And Hiberna?”

            “She got away,” said Vannus – “as far as we know.”

            “We thought it might be a sign, though,” Celatus added. “If Mercurialis decided to kill Vulca – she might have decided to strike out completely, at you, at the statue.”

            “Well, by all appearances,” said Laevinus, “that isn’t the case. She must be biding her time, I suppose – eliminating threats. But murdering Artoria and her whole family… That might seem a little too blunt.”

            Celatus’ mouth twisted into something ugly. “Yes, I’m sure she’d shudder to do something so _obvious…”_

            “Divine Juno and Jupiter…” Laevinus sighed, as he looked at them catching their breaths. “And you’re still no closer to finding the woman herself?”

            Celatus straightened, and stretched out his back with a grimace, and said: “We have leads. We should pursue without delay.”

            “Celatus,” Vannus murmured, “what proof do we have that we can ever find her?”

            “None,” Celatus snapped, as he stared not as his companions, but at the shadowy street and the frost in the air. “But that this pearl is more valuable than anything else in Rome, and she will want it. And so long as we can keep her from it, we have a chance to trap her, to find her and ruin her hateful business.”

            They bade the legate farewell, and embarked on Celatus’ first lead.

 

            “That’s the last of them,” Vannus sighed, while his fingers flexed and flinched at his sides. “At least, the last of your perceived _leads,”_ he added, like a viper. “You’re sure you haven’t missed any of which Sollemnis told you?”

            The morning was growing, and Celatus glared down at him as he stalked faster down the slope, through the valley and towards the Palatine Hill for whatever fresh clue he had conjured. All the night they had searched – had run down every possibility thought of by Celatus and Sollemnis for where Mercurialis could have hidden in waiting to strike – but they had found nothing. Laevinus, when they had met him at dawn, had told them of no disturbances, only of a rumoured ill omen at the Temple of Apollo.

            “I’ll find her,” Celatus forced through his stiff jaw, without a glance for his friend.

            Vannus dipped his chin in equal acceptance and defiance. “Celatus,” he began, “perhaps it might be best to leave this –”

            Immediately, Celatus rounded on him. “We have the perfect trap for her!” he cried. “She won’t abandon such a source of wealth, we only need to find her before she makes her final move, and –”

            All of a sudden, however, Vannus looked up, and gripped Celatus by the arm to drag them both aside into a deserted alley between a broad house and a strong-sided insula. Though Celatus spluttered and protested, Vannus ignored him until they were halfway down the lane, and he could push Celatus into the niche of a doorway and clap his hand over the _nobilis’_ mouth. Celatus froze, and was silenced, instantly.

            At the end of the alleyway, there drifted towards them the sound of booted, running feet in a mob. Vannus released Celatus’ mouth and pressed himself closer into their little hidden space as the footsteps sounded nearer and nearer. Celatus tried to peer around the jamb and over his shoulder at the oncoming crowd, but Vannus reached out and forced his face back around and onto the threshold on which they stood, to which he, too, had downturned his face – but, as the crowd passed the end of the alley and paid the huddled, hidden figures no attention, he spared a glance from just the corner of his eyes, to count the men and their burden.

            “About forty men,” he muttered to Celatus, as the group moved out of sight and their noise receded. “Carrying a litter.”

            “Slaves?” Celatus offered, in a murmur, but Vannus shook his head.

            “Soldiers.” He very deliberately held Celatus’ gaze. “Praetorians.”

            “I’d wager they’re headed outside the walls, going in that direction” Celatus replied under his breath. “Towards the _Castra Praetoria?”_

            Vannus’ jaw had gone tight and sincere. “Mithras and Mars,” he breathed, “we must be careful.”

            Celatus rolled his eyes, and pushed out from the doorway to sweep back into the main street. “We have a criminal to catch,” he sniped as he went.

 

            There was nowhere new for Celatus to look. He and Vannus returned to the subura, and then to the via Pistoris, in the hopes that Catia would reappear to them, though they were waylaid by having to give the palace a wide berth, around which a crowd had formed. Though Celatus paid the distraction no heed, Vannus’ senses were put on an increased alert – already heightened after their near run-in with the soldiers before – and he began to notice more and more aberrances as they passed through Rome: a dozen marines headed north for the Porta Collina, and a set of marching lines of burly, blonde-haired German troops coming down from the west of the city. Celatus, set on his goal, was immune to any warnings of Vannus’, and so he tasked himself with keeping eyes and ears open, and silently took up the watch to protect them from harm, Mercurialis-driven or – as seemed increasingly likely – otherwise.

            Catia was nowhere to be found. Half the streets that they passed were empty, except when they crossed by the palace where the crowds seemed to have converged, on their way between Mykale and Laevinus, still in place by Artoria’s house.

            “Any news?” Celatus demanded on their arrival; but all Laevinus had to report was that the family had gone out, and no one had come in, and at their last check, the statue had still been in place.

            “I’m beginning to think we should just seize it now,” the legate grumbled. “Have done with the thing.”

            “No!” Celatus cried. “If we move on it, we lose any chance of catching Mercurialis! It’s practically in our hands as it is, bringing it into obvious custody will only endanger your men and all our lives!”

            “Do you know what’s happening at the palace?” Vannus asked instead, as Celatus sped across the road and dove into the insula upon which all their plans were pinned. “All I see are crowds and rumours, and Celatus is giving us no chance to stop and ask.”

            Laevinus shrugged. “I probably know little more than you,” he said, “but I hear some senator or other is dead, or going to be, or wanted to be. Or perhaps all three at once. They said the new heir, Piso, was to make a speech; but Juno knows what it was supposed to be about. The people are clamouring though.” He looked out, as if he could see across the city and the events of the empire from his perch and keep watch over all. “I fear something – though I can’t say what.”

            Vannus’ lips were pursed, and he glanced over both shoulders as they waited for Celatus.

            “I beg Apollo this business should be over soon,” he grumbled, “and we can look to saving our skins from whatever new politics the court and senate have decided upon.”

 

            They had skipped their lunch. Vannus’ feet were aching, and his stomach was empty, but he followed Celatus wherever he went, with his hand ready and itching for his sword.

            On every corner, now, it seemed, there was a soldier.

 

            Vannus bought fried chicken in the shadow of the Capitoline from a vendor who looked bored with her business, but not with the rumours of the street.

            “Did you hear the speeches?” she asked Vannus, all bright eyes and eagerness, with a voice raised over the noise of the crowd. “Did you see Piso, on the steps?”

            “No, sorry,” said Vannus, with a polite smile, “we’ve been busy.”

            “They say the emperor is to show himself in the forum,” the vendor continued, grinning. “Oh, I wish I could be there to see it, he’ll have stirring words. All the soldiers in the city have followed him, I’m sure of it!”

            “ _Piso,”_ Celatus growled, “we must _move on.”_

            But Vannus flapped a hand in his direction and frowned still at the woman.

            “All the soldiers?” he repeated, with a shrug of his mouth. “I’ve been up and down Rome all day, I’ve hardly seen a single Praetorian in all this mess.” He glanced around at the passing throngs, as if even then expecting to see the cohort go by.

            “Oh haven’t you?” cried the vendor, latching on to his words. “See this is all that I miss, stuck here! Someone said they killed Otho, but I doubt that, the Guard has never been loyal to Galba, not since months past –”

            “ _Piso!”_

            “Celatus, this is important –”

            “As is the bringing-down of a city-wide, if not _empire_ -wide criminal organisation and its mastermind,” Celatus growled, pulling at his arm, “now, I gave you a moment to get your _food,_ though I really didn’t need to, and –”

            “Celatus, _something is happening,”_ Vannus insisted as he was dragged down the street, “can’t you see that?”

            “What does it _matter?”_ Celatus cried. “I am on the verge of the culmination of the greatest case of my career, do you care about that at _all?!”_

            With his free hand – the other laden with lunch – Vannus grabbed the front of Celatus’ tunic and pushed him back against the wall of one of the buildings behind them. Celatus opened his mouth to protest, but Vannus stopped him with a great tug at his front, which pulled and thrust him back against the bricks.

            “Now,” Vannus growled, in little more than a whisper. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, since you’ve been so _preoccupied,_ but this city is falling into turmoil.There are soldiers on every street and men going armed without reason, and by all accounts, someone is soon going to die. So, if you want me to keep helping you, instead of outright _tying you down_ in our rooms, you are going to take _every measure_ to – _hey!”_

            He lashed out at whoever had jostled him, but the crowd streamed on, heedless of what they had interrupted. Vannus turned back to Celatus, who was scowling.

            “Laevinus’ men are _in position,_ Vannus,” he snarled, “and they’re not all entirely ignorant, she won’t get past them with ease –”

            They were shoved again, tossed by a little crowd of citizens, and all of a sudden – like a strike from Jupiter – Vannus _knew._ He tossed his lunch to the gutter, and stepped close to his friend’s side.

            “Celatus,” he said, very softly, very calmly – “I want you to come with me.”

            “What, _where?”_ Celatus snapped. “No, there has to be somewhere else we can find her, find her workers – perhaps Catia’s seen something –”

            “Celatus, please –”

            But Celatus was spinning on his heels in place, with his fingers crooked and stiff in the air on either side of his head, as his eyes darted over the milling people and his growl turned cracked. “If I could just _think –”_

            “We need to get out of here, Celatus –”

            “Why is there all this _noise?”_

            “It’s an imperial address,” Vannus barked, “now will you _come with me?”_

            Celatus, finally, took in the streets around them – and his hands relaxed, as he said, in a voice soft with intrigue: “They’re headed towards the forum…”

            Vannus hands were clenching and unclenching in fists by his sides. “Yes,” he growled, “precisely where Galba is said to be, now would you do me a favour and _leave it_ so we can –”

            But Celatus wasn’t listening, and already he had begun to walk, in the footsteps of the emperor’s train, towards the Capitol.

            “No – _Celatus –”_

            Vannus moved to follow him, but he darted away; at which point Vannus’ meagre patience ran out, and he grabbed Celatus’ arm and turned him back.

            “Celatus, listen to me –” he began.

            “Vannus, what’s going on?” Celatus demanded, and looked again over the crowd. “If Mercurialis is using this as a distraction, I need to see –”

            “ _Listen to me!”_ The Briton’s shout and tightening grip were enough to turn Celatus a fraction more towards him. “Yes, there is something happening in the forum, and I can tell you precisely what it is. The Praetorians and marines have been gathering to the north even while Galba’s own feeble troops are here – _there is going to be a coup.”_

            Celatus scoffed at him. “They can’t just walk in and slaughter someone –”

            “Oh, much more than someone, I can assure you,” Vannus replied, a low growl washed over by harsh breath. “They are going to kill Emperor Galba, and there will be _chaos,_ do you understand that? Do you understand the danger I’m talking about?”

            “Vannus, Mercurialis could be in there,” Celatus snapped, “her people could be going after the statue, I need to see –”

            “It’s _too dangerous –”_

            At that moment, however, horses’ hooves clattered and rang out behind them as three ill-armed, horse-mounted Praetorians galloped towards them on the street. The crowd around them heaved and parted, and Vannus leapt back against the wall to avoid being trampled until they passed – and saw Celatus, running just behind them, towards the forum.

            “CELATUS!”

            He sprinted after the reckless patrician, shouting his name all the while, but when he reached the streets and temples around the forum, he found the pathways blocked by crowds and soldiers on every side, as each person jostled to see and hear what was happening and what might be said. He saw Celatus dive into the crowd without hesitation, even as the Praetorians they had followed pushed and frowned around the edges, their horses whinnying, and Vannus had no choice but to sigh deep, deny the whine that escaped his throat, and throw himself into the fray.

            “Celatus?”

            The people were crammed in, worse than any market bustle, and all were shouting: some for the emperor’s words, some for his death, others for the soldiers to disperse or protect, still more for nothing in particular; even as whole groups of praetorians, mounted and on foot, appeared to force their way into the forum proper.

            “Celatus, where are you?”

            And then he saw him: clambering between the columns of the Julian Basilica and craning to see Emperor Galba, hunched in his chair raised on shoulders in the middle of the crowd.

            “ _Celatus!”_

            Vannus reached him even as a loud scream of terror broke out from the other side of the forum, and at the same time as Vannus lunged for Celatus’ arm, they both turned their heads towards the sound. Someone had drawn a sword, it seemed, and a sudden commotion broken out within the mass of people in the forum space below.

            “They can’t –” Celatus shouted over the crowd, whose noise was quickly turning from one of anger and request, to terror. “They can’t just _kill him –”_

            “Celatus, don’t watch,” Vannus cried, as he tugged at his arm and chest. “We need to go, _now,_ before –”

            The shrieks across the forum reached their pitch then, and both men looked up, as the crowd surged back upon them, to see the emperor tossed from his seat by soldiers who bore their weapons high.

            Immediately, what had before seemed chaos plunged into carnage. Vannus shoved Celatus back against and behind the nearest pillar as the crowd turned back as one and lurched away from the threatening soldiers – yet still, the two men stared with fixed gazes into the mess, as the emperor’s mouth moved, silent from their distance, and he was pulled to his knees, his head forced back, and one man in soldier’s dress raised up his sword ready to plunge, aimed straight at the old man’s throat –

            Vannus groaned, but did not flinch, as Celatus did, when the bloody blow fell. All around them, the screams of horror within the crowd grew louder still as the people tried to force their paths away from danger – trampled their fellows in their efforts – but Celatus now stood still, as Vannus would have had him just moments before, with harrowed eyes and open lips, fixed straight on the blood and bodies down below.

            “Celatus –” Vannus began, voice still raised above the crowd, but softer now. The soldiers shouted in triumph, and someone raised the disembodied head, and swords and spears flashed below as they turned on the crowd. _“Celatus –”_

            “Oh gods above and bel— …” Celatus whispered, skin pale as the moon and eyes nearly blue with terror – “ _Minerva, please –”_

            His limbs were limp and his face slack; so Vannus took his arm in his left hand and dragged him bodily into the turbulent crowd. Celatus still was speaking, broken oaths and half-assessments, but Vannus ignored him in favour of the push between frightened, desperate people, and directing their feet towards the Palatine. As soon as they were free of the worst of the crowd, dispersing through the narrow, branching streets and fleeing destruction, Vannus pulled Celatus aside and demanded:

            “Where is your brother’s house?”

            Celatus stared into his dark eyes, and said nothing. Vannus shook him, and repeated the order.

            “ _Where is your brother’s house,_ Celatus?”

            With a blink and a gasp, Celatus returned, and he looked up and around at the buildings that surrounded them until he had restructured the map of Rome in his mind around them. He began to walk before he spoke, and dragged Vannus behind him by the honeyed hand still clasped around his arm.

            “This way.”

 

            Sollemnis’ household was alert and armed when they arrived, but Celatus’ face was enough to provide them entrance, and they squeezed through the front gates like rats into the sewer, too quickly for others of the scattered, running crowd to follow. No words needed to be exchanged – Sollemnis approached and only grasped Celatus’ face between his hands and kissed his forehead before he directed them through to the back of the house, where two horses were waiting. Vannus set Celatus in charge of collecting bedding, clothes and tools to be packed on the horses before he slipped away from Celatus’ eyes and from the house, and ran as fast as he could towards the Aventine. No seconds were to be spared – though he so dearly longed for them – to hail in parting anyone else: not Hirtia, nor Menna, nor Mykale, Seia, Statius, Laevinus or Dido, for the gods alone knew where they had been tossed by the thronging, fearful crowds and their soldier predators; he only leapt for CCXXIB and his tiny room. He grabbed the penates from their shelf, strapped a spare dagger to his hip opposite his sword, and tucked a knife into the straps of each boot; then he tossed his surgeon’s knives onto the bedclothes with the penates, rolled the lot up in the blanket, secured it with a belt, and fled the building.

            By the time he returned to Sollemnis’ house, Celatus had readied the horses and was nearing a panic over his absent friend. As soon as Vannus appeared, however, bristling with weapons and with his bundled goods now being strapped to his horse’s saddle, Celatus’ breath left his lungs with an almighty rush and a noise in his throat, and he mounted his horse with the aid of one of Sollemnis’ slaves. Vannus climbed up onto his own animal, and cast about with his eyes for Sollemnis; however, the slaves already were urging the horses on, out of the stables and through a small courtyard to a narrow gate at the back of the house. Once on the street, the horses shied and reared, as running men and women still shouted and darted, and the occasional soldier wielding sword and loose stone broke what he could. Still, Celatus and Vannus kicked and cried, and set their mounts on the right path, towards the Flaminian Way.

            The route to the gate, however, passed by the forum, and they were delayed by their detour around that new-unhallowed place. The closer to the Capitol that they came, the closer the crowds, and more than once Vannus had to evade or lash out with his foot at a soldier or a desperate citizen – trying to attack or waylay or plead, he did not know, and could not care. The clatter of horses’ hooves sounded loud on the streets, even amongst the clamour of Rome in turmoil; but they made it to the gate, and out between the mausoleums towards open fields. Outside the press of the city, the winter chill caught up with them despite the afternoon sun, and pricked at Vannus face and legs and exposed arms.

             _“Ecce!”_ came a cry from behind them. _“Vos! Sistite!”_

            Four men came running after them, from just without the walls, all Praetorians with weapons drawn and the foremost nearly at Vannus’ horse’s heels. He pulled the animal up short – though it protested, and Celatus turned about and shouted for him from ahead – and drew the knife strapped to his right ankle. He threw with trained and absolute precision, honed by the very calamity of their circumstance, and struck the man through the heart from afar. Immediately, the three remaining soldiers caught themselves and hesitated, though one already had a horse ready to mount and make chase; yet as Vannus turned his horse around and galloped after Celatus, who now resumed their flight only with Vannus in tow, the Praetorians retreated into the city, and abandoned their fellow with Vannus’ knife in his chest and blood bubbling up into his throat and the paved stones around him; and though Vannus looked with bitter regret upon the lost weapon, he knew now only one sight:

            Celatus’ wool-clothed back and dark, tossed curls, and the gleaming, chestnut strides of his horse. The Campus Martius flitted past, and tombs blended into trees and fields around them, as the shimmer of the Tiber glinted far to their left and the road struck their path for them ahead.

            They were for Arretium.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Changes to previous parts include: added embraces/kisses in a couple greetings (between Celatus and Sabinus in SENATOR CAECUS, and Vannus and Laevinus in CAIUS AUFIDIUS MINICIANUS); fixed a few typos and bad Latin (an ongoing project).
> 
> Saturnalia, the celebrations for Janus, and the feast-day for Aesculapius were real, but my conception of the ceremony/sacrifice Vannus and Celatus perform is totally made up, I'm afraid, as is the haruspicy ceremony Mykale performs, for which I _deeply_ apologise. The vicus Frumentarius was a real road, however, between the Tiber and the Aventine, most likely containing warehouses, and, of course, the Portae Collina and Capena were the proper gates. Also, 'Hiberna' isn't actually a recorded name, but in my defence, it's meant to be more of a nickname anyway...
> 
> In terms of the historical events: as with the death of Nero, reports are a little hazy, and of course, day-by-day and minute-by-minute recounts aren't exactly, er -- in existence. I did what I could with heavy recourse to Tacitus and Suetonius, in any case, and apologise to anyone with a different conception of exact events.


End file.
